“Pump, pump, per-um-pump, Pum, Pump, Per-um. 54 \"Yes?\" \"No one says 'Oh my word' anymore. “I want,” he said, with a white hand outstretched, “to take you out to tea. Wood?" "With pleasure," replied the woollen-draper. "These writer chaps are queer birds. The command was sullenly obeyed, for the fellow did not appear to relish the rating. Her mind turned and accused itself of having been cold and hard. Beneath two tall elms, whose boughs completely overshadowed the roof, stood Mr.
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